


It's A Long Way Out...

by whymylife (nabringa)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Bonding, Dad Jim Gordon, Dialogue Heavy, Foster Care, Found Family, Gen, Good Older Sibling Jason Todd, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Knives, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Police Officer Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Protective Jim Gordon, Runaway Tim Drake, Some Fluff, Starvation, Street Rat Jason Todd, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Trust Issues, and food insecurity in general, but he works out of gotham, he gets his own adoption spree, he has a cool partner who i totally made up, i feel like knives have become a much more significant part of this story than i intended, no beta we die like robins, over survival, the police are ok here but honestly it's just for plot reasons, why do i use that tag so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28319403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nabringa/pseuds/whymylife
Summary: Two children meet on the streets of Gotham. For better or for worse, they decide to stick together and forge a family out of their broken pieces.
Relationships: Jim Gordon & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jim Gordon
Comments: 89
Kudos: 288





	1. prologue: by the time i blink

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "In Memoriam" by The Oh Hellos.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim runs away.

Tim didn’t put much thought into the whole ‘running away’ thing. It just. Happened. 

Ever since he learned to read bus schedules, after school Tim would catch a bus to downtown Gotham and wander around and take pictures and visit museums and peruse libraries. At first he only spent a few hours out, and tried to be home by supper time. Then by dark. Then before midnight. 

Tim stayed out later and longer waiting for… something. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for; what he was expecting. Wasn’t sure he wanted to put it into words. 

Whatever it was, it didn’t come.

The first time he stayed out all night, hiding on a rooftop and taking photo after photo of the busy street below, was the first time he really questioned whether or not he wanted to go back.

He did, taking the first bus of the day and arriving back just in time to change and eat before getting on another bus to go to school. But. After school was finally over he didn’t even stop by the house to drop off his backpack before heading into the city. 

He didn’t come back for three days. 

On the third morning, he took an early bus from Gotham to Bristol. He crept up the stairs to his room and carefully cleaned it out and packed his things away. He emptied his backpack and stacked the textbooks on his desk, and slid his laptop, camera, and phone inside. Three neatly folded changes of clothes and a sweater followed. A bar of soap and his toothbrush from the bathroom, a can opener and a box of granola bars from the kitchen. Changing into clean jeans, a plain shirt, and another sweater, Tim tied the laces of his sturdiest shoes. Standing, he zipped his backpack up and slung it over his shoulder. 

Taking one last look around his old room, Tim straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin and walked through the hall and down the stairs and out the front door of his parent’s house for the last time.

He didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the first chapter mostly written and a general outline for the whole story, but no deadlines or update schedule, sorry! This is my first chaptered fic so I'm taking it slow. I hope you enjoyed this teaser and will stick around for more!


	2. i'm sure i'll find you waiting there for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason stops a mugging.

The good thing about Gotham-- about all big cities, really-- was that it never truly slept. Sure, you could find quiet corners and crannies to hide away in, but the city itself was always awake, pulsing around it’s people and letting those who stopped to listen and breathe and feel know they were alive, still, somehow. Alive and not alone, one part of a connected whole. 

Fuck, Jason needed to stop reading poetry when he was tired and hungry. 

Or, well. Just in general in that case. 

Flopping down onto one of the few benches in Robinson Park that didn’t have those stupid anti-homeless bars in the middle, Jason let himself relax a bit. He’d been wandering around since the downtown branch library closed three hours ago, and didn’t feel like making the trek all the way back to Crime Alley to his typical squat. Park bench for the night it was, then. 

The trick to sleeping on a park bench was to lower your expectations. If your expectations were really, really low, then you couldn’t be disappointed. It was a good system. Worked for him, at least. Jason sighed and snuggled deeper into his hoodie, adjusting his position on the slotted bench. 

There was still a slight chill in the air, but nothing he couldn’t ignore. Spring was coming to an end, and soon the nights would be warm and the days would be risky. In winter it was the other way around. You could find some place warm to hang out, if you kept yourself tidy, but they all closed by 10:00pm at the latest. The nights were a gamble. In the summer there were more people out and about, and the police didn’t want random homeless dudes hanging around public areas. The same public areas where the food and water and shade were. 

Jason sighed again, deeper this time. Nothing worth worrying about right now. Right now he was warmer than he’d been last night, hydrated and semi-clean thanks to the library restroom, and had a head full of Whitman and Frost and Dickinson to put him to sleep. Summer worries could wait until summer. 

***

Early morning sun teased Jason’s eyes open, and a sharp pain in his stomach woke him fully. Waking up hungry wasn’t unusual, but Jason hadn’t eaten anything at all the day before and the ache had progressed from annoying to dangerous. He needed to find food before anything else. Sitting up and stretching, he took his time straightening out his hoodie and surveying the park. Nobody much around this early in the morning. Nothing much in the trash cans downtown, usually. The restaurant dumpsters would be thoroughly picked over from last night. That meant stealing of some sort. Pickpocketing if he could find a target or shoplifting if he could find an open convenience store. 

Plans made, Jason stood and headed towards the east park exit. He’d make his way through the upper east side and pick up breakfast, and hopefully be back at his spot in Crime Alley by late morning, where he could hunker down and eat in peace. 

Out of the trees and walking trails and back between the apartment buildings and alleys, Jason relaxed. Gotham was his city, but the east side-- Crime Alley, the Bowery-- was his home. His territory. He knew every inch of this asphalt and every brick of these buildings, and they offered the kind of comfort and protection that Jason associated with memories of his mother. 

He’d been walking for about twenty minutes now and there still weren’t many people out and about, and those who were didn’t look much richer than Jason. He nodded at Dread Max and Gus on their corner, and spotted Ray’s foot sticking out from behind a stack of recyclables in front of a Sunoco. 

Speeding up a bit, Jason adjusted his course. Sunoco was always open, and gas stations were perfect for--

A muffled yelp yanked Jason’s attention to an alley entrance just ahead. 

Jason slowed down, listening. A grunt of pain followed the thump of a body being slammed into a wall; the clatter of trash being kicked aside was loud in the early morning calm. Jason flattened himself against the pawn shop beside the alley entrance. 

People got into fights at all hours of the day in Gotham, and usually the best thing to do was just ignore them. Mind your own business, don’t go looking for trouble. Jason could fight, had gotten involved in the past if he thought someone helpless was about to get the shit beat out of them or raped, and never regretted the bruises bumps that resulted. Still. He wasn’t about to get punched out over a drug deal gone wrong or some rich dude getting mugged. If there was one lesson the streets as long as he had taught him-- over and over and over until it overcame his instincts and ruled his every interaction-- it was to look before you leap. 

Without a sound, Jason peered around the corner and into the dim crevice between the pawnshop and a laundromat. 

It was a man and a kid. With one hand around his neck and a knee pressed into his lower back, the man was holding the kid face first against the dirty wall and trying to remove the black backpack strapped securely to his person. 

The kid was struggling as best he could with his front shoved against the bricks, scratching at the large hand on his neck, wiggling and kicking and flailing. Muttering up a storm of threats and curses under his breath, the man growled and grunted whenever the kid landed a hit. The kid wasn’t making a sound. No screaming. No crying. Maybe he couldn’t with his face the way it was. Maybe he didn’t think it was worth the effort of calling for help. 

Only one guy, kid in danger? The risk would always be worth it. Stepping into the alley entrance, Jason dropped one hand to the knife hilt at his hip and clenched the other into a fist. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing!?” 

The man froze, grip loosening slightly in surprise. The kid’s harsh breathing cut through the quiet, mingling with the pounding heartbeat in Jason’s ears. 

Sliding his face against the rough bricks with a gulp and a gasp, the kid managed to turn his head enough to look at Jason around his assailant’s bulk. 

Jason’s gaze locked onto a pair of electric blue eyes, blown wide with terror and rage, and for a split second he was staring at his own face. 

Phantom fingers wrapped around his neck and hot breath ghosted against his cheek before Jason shut those memories down so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. This wasn’t about him. He had to help this kid right now, he could have a freak out later. 

Taking a step forward, Jason drew his knife. The man’s eyes dropped to the blade immediately, widening as he pulled his knee away from the kid’s back, and Jason twirled the four inch hunting knife once around the back of his hand before letting it settle loosely in his grip, planting his feet and shaking out his shoulders. 

That knife had cost him blood, sweat, tears, and cash; and had more than paid for itself by saving his life half a dozen times. Jason felt the corners of his lips curl up as the thug took a second look at the way Jason was holding himself and swallowed visibly. 

This guy was either smart or a coward, because he dropped the kid like a sack of rocks and bolted down the alley and away from Jason. 

Probably a coward, if he was mugging kids for backpacks in broad daylight. 

Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Jason sheathed the knife and forcibly relaxed his body. 

The kid had fallen on his hands and immediately pulled himself into a corner formed by a dumpster and the laundromat wall, drawing his shoulders up around his ears and his knees up under his chin, crossing his arms over his chest. He kept a wary gaze on Jason, trying to hide his fear behind a glare and clenched fists. The blood running down his raw face and tears pooling in his blue, blue eyes undermined the effect. 

Jason took a few slow steps towards the kid and dropped into a low crouch, leaving enough room for the kid to bolt if he felt really threatened. 

He was pretty small. White. Black hair, blue eyes. Not old, maybe nine or ten. Skinny, but not in a starved way. Plain clothes, dirty and ripped but obviously of good quality. Nice haircut only just starting to grow out. Backpack stuffed full and zipped tight and pressed flush against the brick wall behind him. Probably from the nicer side of town originally, probably hadn’t been on his own for long, if he was on his own at all. 

Probably didn’t even know he was walking around with a target on his back. 

Jason didn’t reach for the kid. Didn’t try to scoot closer. Just because somebody had fed him and clothed him didn’t mean anybody had loved him. Even if he wasn’t a runaway, there was a reason he was out here right now instead of with them. “Hey, kid. Ya hurt?”

The kid curled in on himself even more, if that was possible. “No.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“Blood is dripping down your face. Into your eyes.”

The kid reached up and scrubbed at his forehead, only succeeding in smearing the blood and staining his hoodie. “Head wounds bleed a lot. It’s not a big deal.”

“I can help.”

The kid sat up straighter, and clenched his fists. “No.”

“Kid--”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Squirt. You need help. You’re bleeding pretty bad. You’re gonna get more bloodstains on your clothes and then your parents will be mad.”

The kid’s face twisted into a wide variety of emotions before settling on apathy. “They won’t care.”

So. One more point for ‘probably a recent runaway’. “I can help you get cleaned up. Get the bloodstains out before they set. You can even stick with me for a bit if you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Jason said, with every bit of earnest honesty he could pour into the words without sounding like an utter sap. 

“How--” the kid choked up a bit, a hint of desperation coloring his fear. “How do I know?”

Jason paused, nodding. “Good point. Here.”

Undoing his belt and ignoring the kid’s flinch, Jason removed his most valued possession and placed it on the ground. “Take it.”

The kid nudged it carefully with a toe. “Isn’t that your knife?”

“Yep.”

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“So you can protect yourself.”

“I don’t know how to use it.”

“I’d show you, but I’d have to take it back.”

Reaching out faster than Jason expected him to, the kid shoved the knife into his hoodie pocket. “Maybe later.”

Jason laughed. “Yeah, let’s get the blood out of your eyes before I show ya how to aim.” 

Gaze still narrowed with suspicion, the kid looked Jason up and down and asked the question of the hour-- “Why do you want to help me so bad?”

That took some thought. Why did he feel responsible for this kid? There were tons of kids on the street. Jason knew most of them by name. Some of them had been there for years, some were new. Nothing about this kid should be any different. 

But. There were finger-shaped bruises around this kid’s neck and his breath hitched when he inhaled. His blue-eyed fear was fresh and familiar. 

Jason hoped his own fear and helplessness didn’t show on his face. 

“Because I already helped you, might as well finish the job? I’d feel bad if I let you wander around and almost get mugged again. Or worse. Bad stuff happens to street kids who fall in with the wrong crowd.”

“You just told me bad stuff could happen to me if I fall in with the wrong crowd, and now you expect me to just trust you aren’t the wrong crowd?”

“Dude. I just gave you my knife.”

“... I guess.”

Jason sighed. “Do I look like a bad guy? Like some kind of predator or kidnapper? If I was gonna hurt you, I woulda done it when I still had my knife.”

“You still can’t prove anything for sure.”

“I guess that means you’re gonna have to trust me.”

“But--” 

“Kid,” Jason rocked back on his heels and stood. “This argument is pointless and you’re still bleeding out of your head. Just take the damn leap of faith and come with me. Or don’t. Whatever.”

Turning, Jason made his way out of the alley, pausing just past the entrance to wait. It took a minute, but soon he heard the terrifying pitter patter of little feet behind him. 

***

It wasn’t until he had the kid leaning over the Sunoco bathroom sink, scrubbing at his forehead with a wad of damp paper towels, that he thought to ask-- 

“What’s your name?”

“Tim.”

“Cool name. Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Jason.”

***

Tim didn’t flinch when Jason cleaned his cuts. His eyes didn’t widen when Jason shoplifted band-aids and Neosporin from the gas station shelves. He didn’t wrinkle his nose at the half eaten sub Jason offered him from a sidewalk trash can. 

Before heading deeper into Crime Alley and towards his spot, Jason turned to Tim and asked another question he probably should have asked before. 

“Do you have anywhere to go? Anyone who watches out for you?”

A slow shake of his head was all the answer Tim offered. 

“Would you… Would you want to stay with me? I don’t have a real place or anything, but I can watch your back while I teach you how to use that knife.”

A hesitant nod, a sliver of sky-blue hope, and just like that life as Jason knew it was over. 

Jason grinned-- bright and big as the sun-- and reached back to tug Tim’s hood down over the messy scrapes and bruises on his forehead. Tim smiled cautiously, and didn’t flinch or reach up to fix it. 

Maybe this could work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was way faster than I anticipated finishing this, whoa. No promises I'll get the next chapter out that fast, but I'm estimating I'll have this whole thing done by February at the latest? So? We'll see???


	3. you'll hold me like you'll never let me go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Tim on the streets of Gotham.

It didn’t hit Jason until later how much work this was going to be.

Sticking with Tim destroyed any semblance of a schedule or routine he had. It was a lot harder to find food and water and shelter for two people, and a lot harder for a pair to stay unnoticed. Jason could pass as white, and they looked enough like brothers from a distance with their black hair and similar short stature. But up close, the contrast between Tim’s pale, porcelain features and Jason’s strong earthenware lines was too much to ignore. A second look from a knowing eye would easily be able to see the wariness Jason wore like a second skin, the caution and confidence that had kept him alive all these years. Tim still had an innocence to him, still met people’s eyes without fear or a challenge, just calculated curiosity. Anybody who knew anything could tell he was new to the streets, and that-- more than advertising that he and Jason were not, in fact, related-- made him a target. 

Jason was careful about when and where they were seen. He kept Tim to back alleys, found rooftops and corners to spend nights and showed him the safest places to wander through days. Public places were out for now, because summer meant more people around and more people around meant more of a chance to be spotted and reported. 

There weren’t any posters up for Tim yet. Jason checked every chance he got. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t appear at some point. It was Jason’s job to monitor who was looking for Tim and how hard they were looking. Someone had to have noticed a rich kid missing by now, right? Someone had to be looking for him. Right?

Because Tim was a rich kid. His upper class accent gave him away, even without the newness and the haircut and the well made clothes that were quickly becoming as ragged as the rest of Tim. 

Tim was a runaway rich kid and Jason was patented street trash, and yet they fit together better than Jason had ever dared dream. 

Because despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, Tim was not completely clueless. Nor was he fussy. Tim was as intelligent and open minded as they come, quickly proved that he knew enough about Gotham and about being alone in Gotham to keep himself safe. 

He knew how to stay silent, to make himself invisible or draw attention as needed. He watched and remembered and practiced eagerly when Jason taught him the basics of pickpocketing and shoplifting and proper dumpster diving. He was practically bouncing when Jason showed him how to take apart an engine and remove hubcaps. It only took him a few lessons to be proficient with Jason’s old knife. 

Tim was excited about his new freedom and ready to learn about his new life, and for whatever reason looked up to Jason as a teacher and protector. And Jason was determined that this kid was going to survive the streets, preferably with the minimum amount of trauma. They made quite a pair. 

Bit by bit the innocence and inexperience faded, and as much as Jason relaxed knowing that his kid could take better care of himself now, a part of him also mourned that loss; wondered about the situation that had forced Tim out of his home and onto the streets of Gotham. 

Wondered what could be so bad that a kid like Tim would sacrifice one lifestyle for another to escape it. 

***

The backpack turned out to contain a camera and a phone, and Jason almost had a heart attack mentally tallying their combined worth in his head. Tim had the grace to look embarrassed and admit that his first disastrous attempt to pawn off a laptop had ended with his face scraping against a brick wall and a knee digging into his back. 

Maybe that thug had been smarter than he looked. 

Walking Tim through pawning off the phone wasn’t nearly as complicated as Jason expected it to be, and they were about three hundred dollars richer at the end of it. It was Tim’s money, technically, but Tim insisted on paying for the knife Jason had given him or at least buying Jason a new knife, and Jason learned very quickly that it was pretty much impossible to say no to Tim when he pulled out the puppy dog eyes. 

***

Many people forgot that Gotham was originally built on an island, and, despite the overwhelming predominance of rocky cliffs, did have a beach or two along its coast. 

In the summer, one of the best spots to spend the night was the beach near the main harbor. It was just rocky enough that most tourists ignored it, and just close enough to mob controlled waters that most law abiding locals didn’t want anything to do with it. You had to make sure you were well above the tide-line and didn’t talk to anybody else you met there, but the breeze coming off the ocean was downright cold at times, so it was worth it. 

After the first absolutely stifling day, Jason pulled Tim to his feet with a grin and said he had a surprise for him. 

They walked out of the city and straight into the sunset, orange and pink igniting halos around two heads of greasy hair and setting off sparks in Tim’s eyes. They picked a spot right where the sand and the rocks started to mix and set up a make-shift camp. Laying their jackets out over the sand, Jason and Tim sat and shared a bottle of water and a package of crackers while the sun finished going down over the waves, searching for stars in the smog. Jason started coughing halfway through his story about fireflies and hunting dogs, and Tim almost dumped all their remaining water on his head when he refused to drink it. 

Tim fell asleep first, and Jason gave a probably-less-than-law-abiding late night beachcomber the stink eye when she wandered too close. Nobody had ever bothered him on the beach before. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring a kid out here for the night, though. But it was summer break. And too dark to see their dissimilarity clearly. Nobody should be suspicious of a kid hanging out with his older brother on the beach. All night.

The lady did not back off. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and pulled out her phone and dialed a number with extreme prejudice. 

Jason swallowed, and reached over to shake Tim’s shoulder as casually as he could. “Hey, Tim. Wake up.”

Tim barely stirred. 

“You need to wake up, buddy. This was a bad idea. We need to go.”

“Wha--”

“Some lady just-- Damn. Now she’s taking a picture. Wake up!”

Tim sat up. “I’m awake! I’m up. Who’s taking pictures?”

“That crazy lady with the metal detector.”

“Why?”

“Because of you! Kids don’t randomly spend the night on the beach with teenagers who are obviously not related to them.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you think of that before?”

“Because I’m an idiot. Lets go!”

***

Tim told his story in short, sputtery bursts that didn’t always make sense. It was like the story had shattered somewhere in his soul, and he had to dig it out piece by piece. Jason knew that feeling. So he was patient, and spent a lot of time just listening, and eventually he managed to reconstruct a vague idea of Tim’s childhood. 

His parents traveled a lot. They weren’t at home more than a month out of twelve, and didn’t hire any help besides a housekeeper. So Tim grew up all alone in some big mansion somewhere, and didn’t really know his parents at all. He snuck out to wander around Gotham for the hell of it, and eventually just decided to stay. Because, why not? Who was going to miss him?

Jason held Tim very tight as he cried, that night. Whispering reassurances and petting his hair, instincts he didn’t know he had surfacing with his kid’s tears. 

Part of him would never understand leaving behind the security of food and a bed to gamble your life on Gotham’s streets. But part of him felt the way Tim was clinging to him-- hands fisted tight on the back of his jacket and face tucked into the crook of his neck-- and remembered the soft hugs and ‘I love you’s of his own childhood. That part of him wasn’t ever going to let Tim go back to an empty house no matter how nice it was, or absent parents no matter how rich they were. 

That part of him was going to hold onto Tim and never let him go. 

***

Despite Jason’s best efforts, Tim was getting thinner by the day. Constant hunger colored the memories of his own first few months on the streets, a few close brushes with starvation and dehydration haunting his memories whenever he went too long without food or water. After seven years of fending for himself, one good meal a day was about all Jason's shrunken stomach could manage. Tim shouldn’t have to go through that. 

They’d pawned the camera and spent the last of that cash a few weeks ago, and stealing of any kind was not a consistent or reliable source of income. Still. Jason tried. He would find a time during the day when he knew the tourists and locals would be out in the park in droves, and stash Tim on a fire escape somewhere to go out and slip some wallets out of purses and pockets. Sometimes he would bring Tim with him, let him practice. 

Sometimes Jason would go by himself to a food pantry or soup kitchen and bring stuff back for Tim. He started shoplifting more, planning out a route around Gotham and making sure to hit the stores and gas stations where he wasn’t as familiar. He usually went for water bottles and food that wasn’t in crinkly packaging, or food that had some nutritional value. Stuff like the apples and bananas that nobody ever seemed to want. Stuff like pre-packaged sandwiches and crackers. He gave it all to a very suspicious Tim. 

***

Tim weighed the unopened package of boiled eggs carefully in one hand, casting an assessing glance towards Jason. “Did you eat anything?” 

Jason resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. “Yeah, I ate a banana on the way over.”

“You should have some eggs too, I don’t need all of them.”

“Nah, I’m good. Besides, I’ve got gum in my mouth,” Jason helpfully demonstrated. “See?” 

“Gross! Get away from me.”

“Heh. Sure you don’t want some gum? There’s plenty to share!”

“Ew! No, go away!”

Jason chased him for a bit before making sure he sat in the shade and ate the eggs and drank half a water bottle, and even let Tim convince him to spit out the gum and eat one singular boiled egg. 

There were other things Jason could do that would bring in more money more consistently, things like dealing or whoring or joining a gang. But the thing about those means of money making, is they caught up to you worse than stealing or ripping car parts. Dealing drugs had consequences for other people beyond the inconvenience of replacing a tire or losing ten bucks of cash or profit. Jason had been living with those consequences for the past seven or eight years, and wasn’t in a hurry to inflict them on others. Dealing also got you tied up with a gang or the mob in a way you could never truly untangle. Actually joining a gang or running errands for the mob was out for the same reason. 

Jason wasn’t about to tie himself down to anything but Tim. Wasn’t about to limit either of their futures by getting in too deep with the wrong people. 

Whoring was different. Whoring was something Jason could do, had done before when it got really bad. Something that kept the metaphorical blood off his hands. He'd...

He’d save that as a last resort. For if it got really bad with Tim. 

So. Tim got thinner, but never complained. 

Jason would have gotten thinner, too. If he had any body fat to spare. 

***

Tim didn’t ask for Jason’s story, but Jason gave him parts of it anyway. Mostly as a show of trust, but also in solidarity. More than anything, Jason didn’t want Tim to think he was alone. 

Not anymore. Never again. 

So he shared his story. Just a few needling splinters and fragments he didn’t mind unearthing-- the sharpest and deepest he refused to touch. He had tried many times to dig them out, but they had a tendency to cut fresh when disturbed.

So he told Tim about Catherine and Sparky, and the good moments he had with Willis. About Catherine’s death, and running away from his third foster home, and his first few weeks on the streets with nothing but a change of clothes and ten dollars he’d stolen on his way out the door. 

Some of it, at least. Some parts could come later, when the Tim in his nightmares of their first meeting stopped carrying his own face, stopped reflecting his own terror back at him when he failed to save Tim, to save himself, to-- 

Yeah. Later. Maybe. 

Tim listened wide eyed to stories of survival and street smarts, to the milder stories of fear and desperation Jason was willing to share, to the stories of hope and happiness despite everything. Especially those stories. That was a good sign, probably. It showed the kid still had some hope left of his own. 

***

“So,” Tim scuffed his foot against the concrete sidewalk, eyes tracing the cracks. “Do you have any plans? What were you going to do? Like, with your life? Before…”

“Before we teamed up?” Tim nodded imperceptibly, still not quite meeting Jason’s eyes. He tended to avoid eye contact when asking about things that were important to him, Jason noticed. “Well. I was gonna go into the army. I turn fifteen next week, I think. Gotta check the dates. And then three more years until eighteen, and I was gonna enlist. You don’t have to have a high school diploma or much official paperwork to do that.”

“So?” Tim glanced up. “Are you still going to?” 

“No. What would happen to you if I just abandoned you? How old are you, anyway?”

“Ten. My birthday was July 19th. I would be thirteen when you joined. I would be fine on my own.”

“Shoulda said something about your birthday, ya little punk.” Jason ruffled Tim’s hair, then tilted his chin up so he could see just how serious Jason was about this. “Listen. I'm not leaving you alone. We're gonna wait until you turn eighteen, and enlist together. Unless you wanna do something else?”

“No!" Tim's eyes were big and bright and blue. "The army sounds fine!”

“Heh. Army it is then,” A smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “At least we get to keep our knives.” 

Tim’s grin was big and bright and beautiful. “Yeah!” 

***

Starting about a month after the beach incident, the boys would go down to the water late at night once a week or so-- always on a different night-- and take a long swim to clean off, then scrub their clothes in the shallows. Jason kept one eye on the rest of the beach, constantly alert. Tim seemed to be able to relax and have fun despite the danger, splashing Jason and messing around with the sand and seashells by the light of the moon. Just, acting like a kid. 

In those moments, Jason was absolutely swamped by the weight of the responsibility he’d taken upon himself. 

He’d just randomly decided to take responsibility for a whole entire child. Tim was his kid, for all intents and purposes, and it was now his job to ensure that Tim stayed safe, and fed, and maybe even made something of his life. The only problem was that Jason could barely keep himself safe and fed, and so far hadn’t managed to make anything of his own life. He had plans for the future, sure. And neither of them had died yet. But they’d really only been together for a few months. Tim wasn’t even a teenager. Hell, Jason wasn’t done being a teenager. The idea of being responsible for another human life, even by choice and under these circumstances, was terrifying. 

Aside from the crushing weight of responsibility, the scariest thing was the simple fact that this odd blend of brotherhood and friendship couldn’t last forever. He wasn’t sure he couldn’t keep this up until Tim was old enough to take care of himself. Either he would crack under the pressure, or he would make a mistake and land both himself and Tim behind bars. 

Yeah. That was an eventuality he was slowly preparing for. 

But, just before the panic attack could completely take over, Jason would remind himself of a few simple facts. First of all, Tim didn’t have any safe place to go. Family was a bust, and foster care had a bad enough rep that most street kids could cite it as a common starting point. Secondly, Tim was safer with Jason than alone. 

And. That was about it. But that’s what mattered. Tim was safer with him than anywhere else right now, and even if he wasn’t completely safe, or guaranteed to be happy and healthy, he could at least sleep peacefully. And maybe that’s all Tim or Jason needed right now. 

And that’s when Jason would relax and tackle Tim into the sand for a surprise tickle fight, and try to forget that they hadn’t eaten more than a stale muffin apiece all day and that Tim’s calluses were starting to rival his own now, and that polluted saltwater only did so much for body odor and street grime and grease stains. 

They would sleep in the shadows of the rocks that night, Jason hiding Tim’s narrow frame behind his own wiry bulk as much as he could, and they would dream of sunlight and laughter and crashing waves. And that was enough, for now. 

***

“Hey, Jason?” Tim wasn’t looking at him, instead staring intently into the last bit of red disappearing beyond the horizon. 

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks. For taking care of me.”

“Hey, no sweat, Tim.” Jason reached out and carefully wrapped his arm around Tim’s too thin shoulders. “Thanks for letting me take care of you.”

***

Jim picked up the stack of missing person reports someone had left on the edge of his desk and casually thumbed through them. It was probably Montoya. She’d been up his ass about getting a special task force assembled to deal with older kidnapping and missing person cases after a kidnapping investigation she’d worked ended up uncovering a serial killer and closing three cold cases of the missing persons variety. With a sigh, he took a swing of cold coffee and set the mug down on a stained paper napkin before sitting down and pulling his chair up. Making sure he had a pen and sticky-notes handy, he started with the first report. 

The last ten years had brought significant reforms to Gotham City’s infrastructure and employment policies thanks to some targeted political campaigning spearheaded and funded by Bruce and Selina Wayne-Kyle, and the crime rate had dropped accordingly. The Wayne-Kyle family had collectively made it their business to fix Gotham, and, for whatever reason, it was working. The combined power of compassion, knowledge, and money, Jim supposed. 

Despite the clean up of Gotham-- and the corresponding clean-up of the GCPD Jim had spearheaded himself-- crime didn’t just disappear overnight. Jim worked more late nights as Police Commissioner than he ever had as a rookie cop back when Gotham had been ranked the most dangerous city in America. Not that he was particularly bothered by this, especially since Barbara had graduated college and moved closer to her job. Working extra hours and double shifts took his mind off the empty house he went back to each night. 

Setting down his pen and reaching for the now empty coffee mug, Jim took a good long look at the last report in the stack. The most recently filed report, even if the child in question had been missing weeks before it was officially documented. 

Timothy Jackson Drake. Reported missing on June 3rd by a teacher after not showing up for the last few weeks of school. White, black hair, blue eyes, four foot four inches. He’d turned ten a month ago, if he was still alive. 

The Drakes weren’t in the country and hadn’t noticed their son was missing. It was the teacher and the housekeeper who confirmed Tim’s absence, and the police who contacted the Drakes to let them know nobody had spoken to or seen their son since late April. They had no information on his possible whereabouts or significant relationships and interests that could have helped the initial investigation. 

If Tim was found, he would not be going back into his parents custody. 

Brushing a knuckle over the attached school photo of Tim, his bright blue eyes solemn and dark hair neatly combed back, Jim allowed himself to ache for this child and all those like him. 

This pile of paper was far too thick for his liking. Maybe he should sit down with Montoya and Bullock and hash out the details of a hypothetical task force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have done absolutely nothing today besides write this chapter. I could not be more proud of myself. 
> 
> I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter... There's a lot more telling than showing, but. Eh. First long fic/story, so I'm gonna cut myself some slack for now. I hope you guys liked it??? I'll probably edit more later, we'll see.


	4. meet me in the middle of the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim finds Timothy Drake, and his friend.

Jim still had half a mile to go before his apartment came into view, and the grocery bags hanging on his arms were starting to press into his flesh uncomfortably. He should have taken the car, but it had been an unseasonably warm October so far and he only needed a few things. The brisk walk had done him good, even if he’d ended up buying more than what was on his list and was now paying the price. 

Chewing slowly, he paused and adjusted the bags to a more comfortable carrying position. He rather liked this brand of gum. It had been a while since he’d bought minty gum. He preferred the fruity kind, but this one wasn’t so bad. He was trying to get himself addicted to gum in order to curb his addiction to coffee, and so far it was working out fine. Barbara could gripe all she wanted about dentist bills and teeth wearing down, but dentist bills were a lot cheaper than doctor bills, at the end of the day. Besides, a change of pace was always-- 

A kid stumbled out of an alley, a teenager grabbing onto his arm before he fell. The kid glanced at Jim for a split second before looking back to the teen and saying something Jim was too far away to hear. 

Jim stopped dead on the sidewalk. Blue eyes burned in his vision, and a memory surfaced of a file and poster he’d been studying on and off for months. 

Timothy Drake had been found. 

*

Jason just managed to catch Tim just before he fell flat on his face. “You alright?”

“Fine.”

“Almost took a nosedive. Trippin on air or something?”

“There was a rock!”

“I didn’t step on it.”

“It was there! Now let go of me!” He tried to yank his arm away, but Jason just grinned and held tight. “I can walk by myself.”

“Sure, man. I’m just gonna help you avoid the rest of these invisible rocks.”

*

Jim didn’t dare react. Instead, he casually shifted his groceries and pulled out his phone, pretending to scroll as the kids crossed the street. Pulling up Bullock’s personal number, his finger hovered over dial as the boys disappeared into another alley. The teen’s grip on Timothy’s arm loosened, but Timothy didn’t pull away. Interesting. 

The pair moved further into the alley, and Jim could no longer visibly track them. He needed to move, to keep up with them, but he had no back up yet. Setting his grocery bags to the ground-- and wincing slightly at the mental image of his grocery budget for the next two weeks-- he pressed dial. 

Casually walking across the street to the entrance of the alley Timothy had disappeared down, Jim arrived just in time to see a figure round the corner at the far end. Picking up his pace, he followed, holding the phone up to his ear. 

Jim had spent the last few months frantically combing the city for Timothy Drake, and was not about to watch him vanish off the face of the earth again. 

***

Bullock picked up just before the call went to voicemail, grumpy and grumbling about being interrupted at work. “This better be good, sir. You might have the day off but I’m working late tonight.” 

Jim didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I’ve got eyes on Timothy Drake.”

“Timothy Drake? That rich kid who went missing back in April?”

“That’s the one. I’m following him and another kid along 37th street right now, but since I’m not on duty there isn’t much I can do.” Jim ducked inside a doorway just as the teen glanced over his shoulder. “Who do you have near my location?”

“Uh, I’ll radio in and see. I think Grayson and Amari are on 32nd. What’s the plan?”

“Bring them down to the station and call social services.” Jim tentatively stepped back out onto the street, phone held as casually as possible. “Nothing much else that needs to be done. Can you get someone on that, actually?” 

“Yessir. Stay on the phone, I’ll keep you updated about who’s coming your way.” 

***

Strolling down the sidewalk, Jason leaned over and mumbled into Tim’s ear: “Don’t look. We’ve got a tail.”

“We’ve got a wh--”

Jason grabbed the neck of his hoodie just before Tim turned his head. “I said don’t look.” His grip relaxed. “Somebody is following us. Older guy. Red hair, mustache. Doesn’t look homeless.” 

Tim’s eyes widened. “What are we gonna do?” 

“We’ll try to lose him first,” Jason shrugged. “If that doesn’t work, we ambush him and see what he wants.”

“Is that… Is that a good idea?”

“Depends on why he’s following us. But that’s why I have a knife, so.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“It’s gonna be fine, buddy,” he grinned and ruffled Tim’s hair. “Just let me take care of it and run when I say run.”

Tim leaned into the touch for a second before remembering himself and shoving Jason’s hand away. He squared his shoulders and nodded resolutely, confident in Jason’s assurances. 

Jason shoved his shaking hands into his pockets and hoped he could live up to them. 

***

Jim stayed on the phone with Bullock, only half listening to the orders and directions being given as he focused on discreetly following the two boys down empty streets and alleys. They were walking in a casual, unhurried way; close enough their arms brushing against each other. He tried to stay back as much as possible, let them disappear around corners before rushing down the street and turning the corner himself just in time to watch them disappear again. 

It’s slow, rough going, but he kept it up for about thirty minutes before Bullock got his attention again with the news Grayson and Amari were on their way, sirens off. “I’m tracking your phone and feeding them your location. They’ll come straight to you. All you need to do is catch up with those kids and keep them in one spot. You think they’ll come willingly?”

“I doubt it. I would say it’s looking more like a runaway situation than a kidnapping situation, but I have no idea who the other kid is or how he fits into this. At the very least he’s going to have to be brought in for questioning, since he seems to know Timothy well. We could be dealing with anything from running off to stay with an unwitting friend to trafficking.”

“Got it. Well, our boys are about five to ten minutes away. Go ahead and catch up to them.”

“Will do. Should I hang up now?”

“Yessir, they’ve got your location and you’ve got your directions. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Jim smiled faintly as he pressed the end call button. Timothy and his friend had just entered an alley ahead of him, so he would follow them in quickly and try to catch up to them before they got back to the main street. Calling out was likely to make them bolt if they were wary of adults, but he didn’t want it to look like he was purposefully cornering them, so he’d risk it. 

He was three steps into the alley before he realized he couldn’t see the boys ahead of him-- hadn’t seen them turn the corner. 

Something scraped behind the dumpster to his right. Before he could turn his head a sharp kick to the back of his legs sent him sprawling to the ground, a living weight landing heavily on his back and knocking the breath out of him, pressing him into the filthy asphalt. The combined stench of rotting garbage and rank human washed over him, making him gag. His arms were pulled up behind his back none too gently, and the weight shifted until it resolved into a pair of knees digging into his ribs. 

“Why the hell are you following us?” a noticeably young voice snarled next to his ear. 

“I’m not--”

“Don’t lie,” the boy’s grip on his wrists tightened. “You’ve been following us for a half hour. You don’t look like the type that needs money, more like the type that’s looking to spend. I can tell you right now me and my brother ain’t got nothing for sale.”

Wait. “Your-- your brother?”

“Not that it’s any of your business. So?” He twisted Jim’s left wrist, Jim hissed in pain. “What’s your deal?”

“If you let me up I’ll--”

“Ha, funny. Explain.”

“I’m--” Telling the truth couldn’t make the situation worse at this point. And he hadn’t been planning on lying to them, anyway. “I’m GCPD! We’ve been looking for-- for your brother, for Timothy Drake. I wasn’t trying to scare you, I just needed to keep eyes on--”

Another twist cut him off. “Why?”

“Why-- why what?”

“Why,” the boy growled, “were you looking for him?”

“Because he’s a kid who went missing.” Jim tried to turn his head and see this kid, but his cheek was pressed firmly into the muck. “Why wouldn’t we be looking for him?”

“Heh. I don’t know, you tell me.” he said bitterly. 

Jim wasn’t sure how to respond to that. After a beat of silence, the kid shifted his weight and spoke. “He doesn’t want to go back. And I’m not going to make him. I’m not going to let you take him and put him right back in the shithole he escaped from. Tim?” he called out. 

Some shuffling from behind them, and -- “Yeah?”

“Run.”

“But what about--”

“Don’t worry about me. Just run, and hide. I’ll find you after I shake this asshole.”

Another beat, and then small feet took off at a sprint. Jim caught a glimpse of dark hair as Timothy ran past him and down the alley. 

No. It had been months, he wasn’t going to lose Timothy Drake like that. The kid on his back seemed to be kneeling instead of sitting. That could be a very unsteady position. 

Throwing his weight to the left, Jim rolled onto his side. The kid hit the asphalt, screaming for Tim to go. He still had a hold of Jim’s wrists; was putting too much pressure on his shoulder and elbow. Grunting in pain, Jim yanked his arm out of the kid’s grip. He managed to get his hands underneath him before the kid slammed into him again. Shoving Jim onto his back and dropping squarely onto his chest, knees digging into his upper arms, the kid reached for the sheath on his belt. Jim gasped out a single, “Wait--” before the tip of a knife was pressed against his cheek, just under his eye. 

Above him, Jim’s assailant looked young, scared. He couldn’t be older than fifteen. He was panting, sweating. Light footsteps were disappearing farther down the alley, but the teen didn’t take his eyes off Jim. 

Tires squealed against the road, and “Stop, police!” rang out from just outside Jim’s line of sight. The teen went white under his tan, whipping his head around and jerking his hand in the process. Jim hissed as the knife bit into skin. 

Timothy’s footsteps hesitated. “Jason?”

“No, keep running! I’ve got this!”

Officer Amari’s dark head appeared behind the kid, Officer Grayson running past the tangle on the ground to catch up with Timothy. Amari quickly wrapped one arm around the kid’s chest and reached for the knife. The kid bucked in his hold, but Amari managed to twist the knife out of his hand and toss it aside. Lifting him bodily off Jim, Amari held the struggling teenager flush against himself and pulled him towards the mouth of the alley. 

Jim stood slowly, reaching up to wipe the blood and filth off his cheek before it dripped onto his collar. His jacket was covered back and front in grime and oil, but the shirt had escaped relatively unscathed. He would like to keep it that way. Glancing around, his eyes landed on a hunting knife with red at the tip. He wrapped it in a handkerchief and pocketed it for safekeeping, careful not to cut himself again. Who knows, the teen may need it back. 

From the shrieking father down the alley it sounded like Grayson caught up to Timothy. Jim looked and saw Grayson practically carrying the kid towards him, talking calmly all the while. Grayson and Amari had been a good choice to send in. They were both good with kids, and tended to de-escalate situations instead of make things worse, which was more than Jim could say for a great deal of his men. 

Regular conflict de-escalation training was on his list of things to implement as soon as he got the funding. 

As they got closer, Jim could make out some of what Grayson was saying. “It’s going to be ok, kid. You are not under arrest. We’re just going to bring you down to the station for a bit. Please calm down, kid. It’s ok. We’re not out to get you. We just want to help.”

“Let me go!” 

Tim kicked and failed, but Grayson just picked him up around the waist and kept going. “I can’t do that until I’m sure you aren’t going to run away.”

“I didn’t do anything, you don’t have any reason to take me!”

“You went missing, kiddo. We can’t let you run around on your own, it’s really dangerous.”

“I wasn’t alone, I was with Jason!”

Jason. That was the name Timothy had called earlier, wasn’t it? 

Jim turned back to Amari and took a good long look at Jason. 

Amari was standing next to the car, one hand still on Jason’s upper arm but for the most part not restraining him. Jason didn’t look like he needed to be restrained anymore. 

His eyes were locked on Grayson and Timothy, and the fight had gone out of him completely. The utter despair on his face hit Jim like the dead weight on his back hadn’t. 

Jason was a lot smaller than the bruises on Jim’s ribs would suggest, with the pinched features of long-term malnourishment. His original age assessment of fifteen was expanded to anywhere from fourteen to sixteen, and if he had to guess he’d say the kid was hispanic. It was hard to tell age or ethnicity exactly. He wore baggy clothes and was absolutely filthy from head to toe. Jason was either homeless or so deep in poverty he might as well be homeless. 

Jim wondered how he’d met Timothy. Jim also wondered if he had any parents they needed to call, and if so, if giving him back to them was a good idea. 

“Commish,” Amari nodded in acknowledgement as Jim joined him beside the car. Pointing to the cut under Jim’s eye, he asked, “You alright?”

“I’m fine, Amari. Thank you for your concern, and your quick response time.”

“Oh, that was all Grayson.” Amari shook his head with a rueful smile. “Not sure who taught him to drive, but I’m holding them personally responsible for the seventeen heart attacks I had on the way over.” 

Jim laughed. “I’ve met the man once or twice, I have a feeling he’d be delighted to pay your hospital bills.”

“Good to know.” He looked up at his partner, who was just a few feet from the group with Timothy. “Grayson! Nice of you to join us.”

“Rude,” Grayson said with a breezy hand wave. “I had a much longer walk and a much more squirmy child.”

Much like Jason, Timothy had stopped struggling and was instead hanging limp in Grayson’s grasp. With a final step Grayson closed the circle of cops around the car and let go of Timothy, who immediately went to Jason’s side. Both boys leaned into each other, and Jason placed an arm around Timothy’s shoulders, glaring at the cops boxing them in. 

Amari moved to stand in front of them, with Grayson on his right and Jim on his left, leaving the boys with their backs pressed against the car. Kneeling, Amari tried to give them some space as he explained the situation. “Alright, guys. I’m Officer Jerome Amari, and this is my partner--”

“Officer Dick Grayson, nice to meet you boys!” Grayson waved. 

“And I’m sure you’re both acquainted with the Police Commissioner? Jim Gordon?” Amari gestured to Jim who tried to smile reassuringly. Judging from the way Jason’s face went pale again, it didn't work. 

“So. Now that we’ve introduced ourselves,” Amari turned his attention back to the boys. “It's Timothy, right?” Timothy nodded, hesitantly. “You were reported missing in May, and we’ve got to take you and your friend down to the station to ask you some questions and get in touch with a social worker. Is that alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good! So, I think I heard your name was Jason?” Amari waited patiently for the nod and accompanying eye roll before continuing. “We need to bring you in and ask you some questions, but is there someone you can call to meet us at the station?”

“... No.”

“Alright then. How about you boys settle into the back and we’ll be on our way?” Amari stood, and Grayson reached for the door handle. 

Jason climbed in stiffly, Timothy following close behind. Stepping forward to grab Grayson’s arm as he headed for the driver’s seat, Jim asked: “You mind if I catch a ride with you? This is a case I’ve been following pretty closely and I’d like to see it through to the end.”

“Sure!” Grayson chirped. “If you think you can squeeze in the back, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I am so sorry. It has been *checks blank wrist* like three freaking weeks. I have the next chapter 2/3 of the way done (which is why this one took so long because it was turning into a monster chapter and I had to split it) and the wait shouldn't be longer than a week between chapters after this. Also, I only have three or four chapters planned out from this point, so this could very well be the halfway mark? We shall see. Other than trying my best to get updates out sooner, I'm making no promises. 
> 
> I would also like to say: I needed the police to be good guys for plot reasons, but I honestly have no idea if a similar situation would be handled like this in real life. It would depend on the department and the officers, honestly. And: I changed Jason's ethnicity! He's hispanic now, and I adjusted a line in the last chapter than said he had blue eyes. Why? Because I'm hispanic and I felt like it :)


	5. i'll see you wild arms swinging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of conversations take place.

Grayson drove, with Amari in the passenger seat. Jim and the boys shared the back. 

The kids were silent, Jason pressed against the far door with Timothy held tight to his side. 

Jim carefully gave them space, and mentally ran over what he needed to do when they got to the station. Every once in a while he would glance over and take in Jason’s blank face and Timothy’s trembling hands, and feel a fresh pang of guilt for putting them in this situation, even if it was for their own good. 

Driving young people to the station in a police car, bars on the windows and badges in the front seat, always felt like something of a sentence in and of itself. No matter what happened when they got there, these kids were always going to have that memory of being trapped and uncertain. 

Jim swallowed, and spent the rest of the ride looking out the window and smiling faintly at Grayson’s fruitless attempts to draw Jason into conversation. 

***

When they finally arrived Jim headed straight to the locker room to change into a spare uniform, leaving Grayson and Amari to deal with unloading the kids and starting their paperwork. Buttoning his dress shirt and taking one last moment of silence for his lost groceries and day off, Jim took the stairs to his office. Pulling up the missing persons database and pulling out Timothy Drake’s physical file, he called Bullock’s desk phone. He picked up on the second ring. 

“Yeah, boss?”

“Thanks for the help, Bullock. We got both kids and are at the station with them now. Can you come down to my office?”

“Be there in two minutes.”

The click of the receiver ended the call, and Jim booted up his computer and started shuffling through files while he waited. Bullock knocked at his door approximately four minutes later, two mugs of break room coffee in hand. Jim took his gratefully. 

“So,” Jim blew the steam away before taking a sip. “We have Timothy Drake and an unknown, possible first name Jason. Has CPP been informed?”

“Yessir.” Pulling the spare chair around to Jim’s side of the desk, Bullock sat heavily. “I had someone call while I was radioing Grayson and Amari. Just told them to expect the Drake kid though, not the other one.”

“That should be alright. We don’t know for sure that Jason is his name or that he’s in the system. Whose coming?”

“Amy Saladino. She’s Tim’s caseworker and has been spearheading the investigation against his parents.” 

“Saladino’s a good one.” Jim nodded his approval. She’d worked Babs’ case, nine years ago now. Jim remembered being some strange combination of terrified and ecstatic throughout the entire adoption process, and only Saladino’s composure had gotten him through the house inspection. She’d called to check up on Babs a few times since then-- attended her high school and college graduations-- but they hadn’t really kept in touch.

“So, boss,” Bullock leaned forward, peering over Jim’s shoulder at the computer screen. “Should we run a search for the Jason kid, just in case?”

“I don’t think we’ll find much, but I don’t see what it could hurt.”

Turning to the computer, he pulled up the New Jersey missing persons database and ran a search. 

Name: Jason 

Approximate Age: 14 - 18 years

Race: Hispanic/Latino 

Jim isn’t expecting to find much, but he’d like to at least try the database before he resorts to interrogating or fingerprinting the kid. If the first search doesn’t find anything he’ll expand the age parameters or select a different race, run a few different combinations just to be sure. 

They don’t have to run any other combinations. 

Jason Peter Todd-- age fifteen, mixed white and hispanic descent-- shows up on the first page of results for the first search. 

The picture attached to his digital file is of a much younger Jason, maybe eight or nine. He was sitting on a couch in a messy apartment, a torn copy of ‘How To Train Your Dragon’ resting open in his lap, smiling up at the camera. It was a startling contrast to the worn down young man who held Jim at knifepoint not even an hour ago. He studies the picture and compares features for a while, Bullock doing the same next to him. Finally, Bullock leans back and asks, “Is that him, boss?” 

Jim nodded. It was the same Jason, but the one sitting in his lobby right now had lost some hope and gained some scars. 

Reading through the file, Jim started to piece together a picture of Jason’s life for the past few years. His father was killed in a prison riot when he was six and his mother died from a drug overdose when he was nine. He spent five months being shuffled around in foster care before running away a week before his tenth birthday. 

The proper reports were filed with the police, but nobody put up much of a search for him. Jim wasn’t sure he could really blame them. A kid like Jason-- suffering the effects of poverty, traumatized by the deaths of his parents-- would have been a lot of trouble and unlikely to be adopted. In an overcrowded and underfunded system he was easy to forget about. 

Jim printed out Jason’s file and set it with Timothy’s; closed out the search window and thanked Bullock for his help. The other man stood with a sigh and patted Jim on the back before leaving. 

Jim paged the front desk and asked for Timothy Drake to be sent up to his office. 

***

Officer Grayson left his partner at the front desk and jogged over to where Jason and Tim were sitting on the hard plastic chairs in the lobby. “Hey, guys! While my partner finishes up with that paperwork, I’m going to hang out with you.” He sat down next to Tim without further ado, smiling like he expected them to smile back. Jason would have rolled his eyes at that man’s ridiculously cheerful attitude if he had any energy left after spending the last thirty minutes mentally cursing himself out. 

Before he could respond that neither of them were going anywhere and that they did not need a babysitter, thank you very much, Officer Amari turned away from the front desk and called, “Hey, Dick? Gordon just paged and said he wanted to talk to Timothy. I can walk him up if you want to stay with Jason.”

Grayson looked at Tim, asking, “You ok with that?”

“Yes sir,” Tim nodded, squeezing his hands into fists before standing up. 

“Alright then. I hope your talk goes well!”

Tim nodded again, glancing fearfully at Jason once before marching off towards Amari. The two of them disappeared around a corner, and Jason slouched down further in his seat. He had no idea what to expect here, and wasn’t about to do or say anything that would make the situation worse. Hopefully Tim would get off easy, all he’d done was try to run. Jason knew he wouldn’t be so lucky. 

“So,” Grayson said casually. “Tim calls you Jason, is that your real name?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Officer Dickface.” Way to not not make the situation worse, Jason. 

“Yeah,” Grayson huffed out a laugh. “There’s a joke that never gets old.” 

Jason eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t seem mad, nothing in his body language had changed. Huh. Might as well just go with it. “You chose your nickname,” Jason shrugged. “It’s your own fault.”

“I suppose. So,” he leaned forward. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”

Jason scoffed. “You think I’d still be here if there were?”

“Do you plan on giving me any straight answers?”

“Figure that out all on your own?”

“Look, Jason. I understand that you’re scared and--”

Any remaining fear was suddenly evaporated by blinding rage. “Don’t throw any of that patronizing bullshit at me,” Jason spat, sitting up straight and glaring hotly. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me and you don’t have the right to act like you do. Fuck off and don’t talk to me.”

After a moment of silence, Grayson said, “Sorry for pushing,” in a surprisingly even voice. 

“Whatever.” Jason slumped back in his chair, staring at the floor and preparing to ignore Grayson for the rest of however long he had to wait. 

***

“Hello, Timothy.” The poor kid looked absolutely terrified, hovering in the doorway. “You want to go ahead and sit down?”

The kid swallowed, inching closer and cloning the door behind him. “It's Tim.”

“You prefer to be called Tim?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just Jim, kiddo.”

“Alright, Mr. Jim.” Tim sat, scooting his chair in. 

Jim cleared his throat, opening Tim’s file before starting. “Do you know what’s going on, Tim?”

“We’re getting arrested?” was the cautious response. 

“No,” he said as gently as he could. “You are not getting arrested. You have been taken into custody, technically, but all the police are doing is keeping you safe until your social worker gets here.”

“Is Jason getting arrested?”

“No, Jason isn’t getting arrested either.”

“You’re not pressing charges?”

“No.” Jim resisted the urge to rest his face in his hands. “It’s going to be fine, Tim. I promise. Neither you nor Jason are in trouble, but we will be keeping an eye on you so you don’t run away again. We’ve been trying to find you for months, you see.”

“You…” Tim’s face lit up, hope sparking in his eyes. “My parents, did they--”

“You aren’t going back to your parents, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” That one little exclamation cut Jim to the bone. “They didn’t notice, did they?”

“No. No, they didn’t.” He shuffled some papers to avoid the fresh heartbreak on Tim’s face, then cursed himself for a coward and looked the poor kid in the eye. “We got a call from one of your teachers, and later your housekeeper.”

“They weren’t mad at me, were they?” 

“No, Tim. Just worried. I’ll give them a call later to let them know you’ve been found, and you’re ok.”

“I should have left Mrs. Mac a note or something,” he fretted, wringing his hands, “But I didn’t want her to worry. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t notice, either.”

“Of course she noticed.”

“She didn’t the first few times.” And wasn’t that terrifying. 

“I’ll be calling your parents too. They’re being investigated for child neglect and reckless endangerment. There is still a chance they’ll get custody back, but it’s not looking good for them, especially now that we’ve found you and can get your testimony.”

Tim shrugged, like it didn’t matter in the long run what his parent’s chances were. “I don’t want to go back to them. I want to go with Jason, wherever he goes.”

That was the trouble, wasn't it? “It’s not really up to me, kiddo. But I’ll try to make that happen.” Jim tried to smile reassuringly, but it mostly came out sad. “Now, I have to ask you a few questions, is that ok?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you don’t want to answer a question just shake your head and I’ll move on to the next one, ok?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ok. Tim?” Jim opened an old pad of paper to a fresh page. “Did you run away from home?”

“Yes,” was the definitive answer. No hesitation or deflection. Jim made a note. 

“Who was supposed to be watching you?”

“I can take care of myself, I don’t need anybody to watch me.”

“You didn’t have anybody who was supposed to stay with you, or call in and check up on you?”

“No. My parents called when they could. And Mrs. Mac asked how I was doing when she came to clean.”

“Ok, alright.” Jim took a deep breath and counted to ten. “When did you run away?”

“April 25th.” 

“Was there anyone who might have suspected what you were doing?”

“No. I didn’t say anything, and Mrs. Mac never noticed when I wasn’t home.” He made a note to get a copy of Mrs. Mac’s schedule. 

“Alright. Now, who is your friend?”

“Jason?” Tim’s eyes started shining again, this time with the adoration children have for their heroes. “He’s my big brother. I adopted him.”

“That’s fantastic, Tim,” Jim smiled. “How long have you known him?”

“I met him two days after I ran away. Six months, I guess. I know that’s not very long, but he takes care of me like a big brother would. I think.”

“Where did you two stay?”

“Wherever. On rooftops usually.” Jim thought back to the long hot summer they’d had, and pictured two kids sweating under the stars on some crumbling brownstone, and promptly shut that line of thought down before he had an aneurysm. “Jason ran away years before I did, so he knows everything there is to know about how to live in Gotham.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“He’s really nice, and he showed me how to protect myself and-- and other stuff.” Tim stuttered, a slight blush coloring his face. 

Jim had a pretty good idea what ‘other stuff’ was, but for everyone’s best interest he was going to leave it alone for now. “So he’s been taking care of you all this time?”

“Yes. He did a really good job, I promise.” Tim was so earnest, Jim wanted to reassure him that no-one was questioning Jason’s love for him. That wasn’t the issue here. 

“I believe you, Tim. But he shouldn’t have had to do that. Both of you should have had adults to look out for you.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Tim kicked his foot, gaze slipping off to the side. “But the adults didn’t want us.”

“That’s not true, Tim.”

Tim gave him a suspicious look, clearly used to being lied to and dismissed by all the adults in his life. Jim wasn’t going to change his mind in one interview, but he hoped he’d at least planted some seeds. 

“Thank you for answering my questions, Tim. As soon as the social worker gets here she’ll take you somewhere to spend the night. You can go back to the lobby now.”

“Thank you, sir. And have a pleasant evening.”

Tim shut the door carefully on his way out, and Jim rests his head against his desk and thinks about Barbara when she was thirteen, and mourning her parents, and clinging to him like a lifeline, totally trusting that he would take care of her. 

***

Jason’s head snapped up when Tim stepped back into the lobby, Officer Amari’s hand against his back. Tim practically ran the last few steps, dropping into his seat and burying his face in Jason’s shoulder. Jason patted his shoulder. “You ok, Timbit?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t too bad. He just asked a bunch of questions.”

“Jason?” Officer Amari said gently. “Your turn.”

Jason squeezed Tim tightly one last time before standing and following Officer Amari out. Tim tried not to cry watching him walk away. 

Officer Grayson let him sit and silently shake for a few minutes before asking, “How did it go in there?”

Tim took a deep breath. “Fine, thank you.” 

“Can I get you anything? A drink of water or a snack? There might be some donuts left in the break room if you’re interested.”

“I’m fine.” Officer Grayson shouldn’t be worrying about Tim like that. The only one who worried about Tim like that was Jason. And Mrs. Mac, but she was paid to. Was worrying about delinquents part of a police officer's payroll? Maybe it was. That would explain it. “Thank you for asking, sir.”

“Just call me Dick, kiddo. Everyone does.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Dick.” 

“So, how old are you, Tim?”

“... Ten.”

Officer Grayson nodded slowly before turning to face Tim. “You know, I was nine when my parents died.” He said it so calmly, Tim almost missed the meaning of the words. “I ended up in this exact same lobby, waiting for some strange adult to come announce what was going to happen to me. It was absolutely terrifying, and I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” 

“Did it-- did it turn out ok? For you?” Tim leaned forward, concerned. Officer Grayson was right here, and he was smiling a minute ago. Of course it turned out ok. But Tim still wanted to hear him say it for some reason. 

“Not at first. Some mistakes were made and-- it was pretty bad. At first. But eventually, it was ok.” Officer Grayson smiled again, more fragile than before. “Someone decided to help me, and after that everything was good. Not perfect, not fixed. But really, really good. Look,” he sighed, laying one large hand across Tim’s shoulders. “I can’t promise everything is going to be ok for you today, or even tomorrow, but someday it will be. Trust me.”

Tim blinked, thinking it through. Officer Grayson didn’t look like the type of guy who broke his promises, but neither did any of the adults Tim had trusted before. Still. What was the harm in hoping? So he nodded, and let Dick pull him into a hug, and even leaned into the hug a little bit. 

Jason had promised something similar, so maybe it was true. 

***

“So, Jason.” The frowning boy in front of him flinched when he said that name. Jim wondered how long it had been since an adult called him that. “I looked you up, I found your file. Took me a minute. Todd is your last name, correct? Son of Catherine and Willis?”

Jason nodded, resigned. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. We’ve--”

“You gonna press charges?” he interrupted, eyes strangely blank. 

“No?” Jim said, slightly confused. “No. I am not going to press charges. You were scared, and you did what you thought you had to do to protect yourself and Timothy. Nobody got hurt in the end.”

“I cut you.” 

“Your hand slipped. Trust me, I’ve been injured on the job enough to know when someone has harmful intent and when it’s an accident.”

“I can’t go to jail.” Something in Jason’s expression cracked. “I can’t go to juvie. If I have a record I can’t-- I can’t.”

“You’re not going to, Jason.” Jim resisted the urge to reach out and place a hand on Jason’s shoulder. He didn’t know much about the kid, but he knew that would not be well received. “I promise. You’re not in trouble, nobody is pressing charges. We’ve got a social worker on her way, she should be here in--”

Jason’s eyes widened briefly before he got his face back under control. “You can’t put me back in the system.”

“You’re a minor in custody of the state, you’re already in the system.”

“You can’t put me back in foster care.” There was a hysterical edge to Jason’s voice, the fear he’d kept under wraps so far finally rising to the surface. 

“Why not?”

“Because-- because you can’t!” Jason surged forward, frantic; would have leapt out of his seat if the desk hadn’t been in the way. “I’ve been on my own for years, I’ll be fine. I’ve got a plan, I don’t need-- Just let me go, and I’ll stay off the radar. I guess,” he leaned back, visibly trying to stay calm and rational. “Tim-- I know you’ve gotta keep Tim, since he’s little and famous. And Tim needs a real home, and regular meals, and stuff like that. Just.” That despair was back, bleeding out of his face and voice and into the sharp lines of his body. “Make sure he ends up with a good family, alright? I know you’re busy, but keep an eye on him, or something? He’s cute, he might even get adopted.”

“Jason, aside from the fact that the Drakes still have a chance to work with the state and regain custody, what makes you think Tim needs a home and a family and you don’t?”

“Tim’s still a kid.”

“And you’re not?”

Jason narrowed his eyes, silently daring Jim to keep playing this game. “You can’t send him back to his parents. They don’t want him.”

“It’s not up to me, but. For the record, I agree with you. He deserves better. You both deserve better.” Jason said nothing, the same dirty scowl he’d started their meeting with firmly in place. Jim wasn’t going to get through to him like this. “You can go back to the lobby now, Jason. The social worker will be here soon.”

***

Amy Saladino arrived twenty minutes after Jason left, marching into his office with the confident assurance of a woman who knows exactly where she needs to be and what she needs to be doing. After a few minutes going over the paperwork and the conversations he’d had with each of the boys, she collected their files and stood, extending her hand. “That’s all the paperwork I need, thanks Mr. Gordon.” 

He reached out in turn, shaking her hand firmly. “Try to get them in a good spot, try to get them together if you can.”

“You know I can’t promise anything.”

“I know.” But she would do her best, of that he was sure. 

“I’ll move their files to the top of my stack and start looking, making calls. Until I have a family available they’ll be at Alpena, but--”

“What?” he cut in, slightly horrified that he hadn’t even considered that possibility. “No. You can’t throw them into juvenile detention because--”

“Because I have nowhere else to put them?” She raised an eyebrow, daring him to contest that statement. “They’re both flight risks, and Jason’s been homeless for years. I couldn’t stick them with just anyone even if I had the space. I’ll get them out of there as soon as I can, as soon as I have a spot available at a group home or with a foster parent.”

Jim winced, thinking back to the way Tim had trembled in his doorway. “Tim’s going to be eaten alive.”

“He’s younger, he’ll be my priority. And,” she continued with a grimace, “His family may get custody back depending on how the investigation goes.”

“So Jason would be stuck there. Alone. For who knows how long.”

“Not forever,” her voice softened. “Someone will age out, some spot will open up. But there’s no reason to try and keep them together, even if I could.”

“No reason except that they’re practically brothers?”

“Not on paper. Not by blood. And those are the only things the state respects, even if basic psychology says differently.” 

Jim took a deep breath, the look on Jason Todd’s face when he said he wouldn’t press charges rising up suddenly and sharply in his mind. “I promised that kid he wouldn’t go to juvie. I told him nobody was charging him with anything, that this wouldn’t go on his record.”

“He isn’t being charged. It’s not going on his record. It’s just that it’s the only place we have open for kids in state custody right now.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t like it either, but you know this isn’t unusual, Jim. Most of the kids in our system have had a stint at Alpena, one way or another.”

“How long…” he swallowed, forcing down the lump in his throat. “How long will it take to get them out?”

“I have a list, like I said. I’ll start making calls as soon as I get back to my office.” She adjusted her bag and straightened her jacket as she spoke, preparing to leave. “All our foster families and group homes are maxed out, but there are people who have done kinship care or taken legal guardianship that have expressed interest in becoming licensed foster parents. I’ll contact them and see if they would be willing to take that step on short notice. If anyone agrees, I can take some shortcuts with their licensing process-- since they’re already in our system-- and have the boys in a brand new foster home in a few days.”

“If no-one agrees?”

“Weeks. Months. Who knows.”

Jim nodded and sat heavily in his chair, thinking of shining eyes and a dirty scowl and already knowing he’s going to be breaking out the brandy and cigarettes tonight. “Thank you for everything, Ms. Saladino.” 

“Just doing my job. I wish I could do more.” She meant it. He knew she meant it. Turning, she opened the door and took a step out before pausing, one foot in the hall and one in the office. After a moment of indecision, she looked back at him with a strange expression. “I know it’s been almost a decade, Mr. Gordon. But your name is on that list.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, welcome. This chapter was brought to you curtesy of my Theater Brain (TM). This obscene amount of dialog cannot and will not be held against my Writer Brain (TM). 
> 
> So, I'm anticipating two or three more chapters after this, though I don't have them all strictly planned out... I have two pages written of chapter six, so at least that's progress? idk guys. 
> 
> Barbara is Jim's niece that he adopted in some versions of canon, and I kinda liked that origin for her in this fic because it gave me more to work with. Honestly, I'm just cherry picking from seven different canons here and that's fine because it's an AU anyway :)
> 
> I may have also aged Tim and Jason down a bit... This chapter takes place in October, Tim is ten and Jason is fifteen after their summer birthdays. I felt like I was writing Tim as a lot younger than the age I gave him and figured it was easier to go back change the age than anything else. If you think the ages were fine before or if you think these ones work better, please let me know either way!


	6. beside the salty water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Jason assess each other.

The ride to Jim’s house was dead silent. He didn’t want to press the kids, and they didn’t exactly seem eager to volunteer information. Well. Jason didn’t, and Tim was following his lead. 

Jim got the distinct feeling that Jason was the one he'd have to convince of his good intentions. 

Grayson dropped them off at Jim’s front door with a smile and a wave. Tim smiled back, Jason’s scowl deepened. Jim nodded his thanks before Grayson drove away and went to unlock the front door. 

Jason followed him inside reluctantly, keeping Tim behind him. When they got through the front hall and into the living room Tim stepped out of his shadow and tentatively walked a circuit around the living room, all innocent curiosity. One eye on Tim and one on Jim, Jason stood stiffly in the middle of the room and observed. 

“Well,” Jim said, gesturing to the house at large. “Here it is boys. Downstairs is the kitchen, dining room, living room, office, and a bathroom. Upstairs is the guest room and my room, and another bathroom. It’s small, but it’s home.” 

Jason shifted his feet, faint scowl still in place. Tim looked like he wanted to say something, but was still looking to Jason for cues. 

“Feel free to explore, or take a shower. There's extra towels in the upstairs bathroom…” Jim finished awkwardly, and made a tactical retreat to the kitchen. It was getting late. He hadn’t eaten lunch and he very much doubted those boys had eaten all day. Time to throw together some supper while they made themselves comfortable. Hopefully. 

It wasn’t until Jim opened the fridge that he remembered about the groceries and groaned. He had some canned soup in the pantry, but that ghastly stuff was usually reserved for emergencies. After some scrounging, he found a half-finished box of pancake mix on the shelf and a few eggs in the fridge. They would have to go shopping for clothes tomorrow anyway, might as well add grocery shopping to the schedule and use this up now. Breakfast for dinner it was. 

As he took out a bowl and measuring cups and started heating the old griddle, Jim let his mind wander to planning out the next few days. It was a Saturday today, and he’d taken the next week off work to get his new foster sons sorted out. Get them enrolled in school and settled into a schedule of sorts. If he was being honest, the time away from work would be good for him, even if wrangling defensive children was not his idea of relaxing. 

The sound of the shower turning on upstairs released some tension in his shoulders, and he ladled the pancake batter onto the griddle with a small smile. 

Though, he wasn’t sure they had any clean clothes to change into. That might be a problem. Tim had a backpack, but it didn’t look big enough to hold much in the way of clean clothes. Maybe he could find something for them in Babs old clothes? Just for tonight? 

Transferring the finished pancakes to a plate, he made his way up to the guest room-- Babs old room-- and dug around in the boxes in the closet for two hoodies, one red and one green, and two pairs of black sweatpants. Both would be much too big on Tim, but would hopefully fit Jason well enough. 

The bathroom was only one door over, and neither of the boys were in sight so he assumed they were both in there. Knocking once, he called out, “I’ve left some clean clothes in front of the door for you, you don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to.” Setting down the bundle he beat a hasty retreat and was halfway down the stairs before he heard the bathroom door creak open. 

He turned the griddle back on, finishing the pancakes by the time the water cut off for good. Putting the pancakes in the oven to stay warm, he set the kitchen table and scrambled the eggs. The boys came down shortly after, flushed and damp and smelling of Babs’ shampoo instead of streets and sidewalks. 

Dinner was just as quiet and awkward as the car ride. Jason didn’t talk, and Tim would only talk to answer questions. Jim gave up after the second try at conversation, remembering how hard Grayson had tried to get Jason to talk during the drives to and from the station. Waiting Jason out seemed like the best tactic for now. 

Jason wasn’t openly hostile, more closed in on himself and defensive. Wary. On edge. Tim didn’t seem to be scared or even nervous around Jim, but he was suspicious. If Jim could get Jason to trust him, Tim would follow his lead. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure if they were going to be around long enough for the slow process of building trust to play out. Saladino had said they would only be with him until she could find a better spot for them, and whether that be a week or a year he didn’t know.

After finishing his food, Jason moved to start clearing the table. Jim just shook his head and ushered both he and Tim into the living room. “I’ll clean up, you boys can put on a movie or something. Or pull out a board game. Whatever you want.”

Jason nodded, grabbed Tim by the arm, and marched them both into the next room. 

Jim did the dishes with the TV on in the background, not quite loud enough to drown out his worries. 

***

It was nearing ten o’clock and Jason was still sitting silently on Jim’s couch, eyes glued to the TV but clearly not paying it any attention. He had one arm wrapped around Tim and the other held close across his stomach, and he stared straight ahead with his jaw tight and chin jutting out. 

Jim had to go to bed soon. Tim was half asleep against Jason’s side. Something must be done. 

Shifting in his easy chair, Jim grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned off the TV. Cleaning his throat, he asked, “Jason, why don’t you and Tim go on up to bed? I’ve only got the one bed in the guest room, but I can get an air mattress out if--”

“No. We’ll share.” It came out sharp, more aggressive than called for. Jason seemed to cringe a bit when he heard the tone of his voice out loud, but Jim just smiled.

“Alright then. You need help with Tim?”

Jason stiffened further, if it were possible, then shook his head. “I’ve got him.” Shaking the smaller boy gently, he whispered, “Time to sleep, Timbo. Come on. Up.”

With a groan, Tim sat up and rubbed at his eyes, standing and mumbling a quick goodnight in Jim’s direction as Jason pushed him toward the stairs. Jim started to stand so he could show them to their room. Jason flinched. Jim sat back down. “It’s the first door at the top of the stairs, opposite the bathroom. Mine’s just past it.”

“Thanks. Sir.” 

“Just Jim, kiddo.”

“I’m not a kid.” 

There was something in the way Jason said that, the way he turned and met Jim’s eyes willingly for the first time since he’d grabbed his collar and pressed a knife to his throat. The same cold steel was present in his gaze, wariness and warning. Something else, too, that hadn’t been there before. Something hurting. 

Jim ached. 

“I know, Jason.” 

Jason stared him down for another few seconds, searching for something. Jim stayed in his chair, body language relaxed and face open. Finally, Jason blinked, and turned to follow Tim up the stairs. 

Letting out a deep breath, Jim slumped further into the cushions. This was going to be… interesting. 

***

A half hour later, Jim paused outside Barbara’s old bedroom on the way to his own, listening for snoring or shuffling. 

Nothing. Silence. Not a peaceful silence, a waiting silence. Anticipation hung heavy in the air, and Jim wondered which one of them was awake. 

Jason. It had to be Jason. 

He could picture it-- Tim, fast asleep. Jason curled protectively around him, watching the door, listening to Jim breath, waiting. 

Jim took a quick step back and continued down the hallway, making his footsteps loud and closing his bedroom door definitely. 

As he changed out of his uniform he realized he still had Jason’s knife in his pocket. 

***

Jason woke up next to Tim like usual, except he was warm. And lying on a bed. He froze on the edge of panic, hand fumbling for his knife and coming up empty. That alone was enough to freak him out fully until the memories of yesterday came flooding back. 

He didn’t have his knife anymore. He’d attacked a creep who turned out to be a cop and lost both his knife and his freedom in the process. 

At least he still had his little brother, Jason thought as he reached out to check Tim’s pulse. 

For now. 

Tim was fine, heart beating strong and steady, so instead of getting up Jason let him sleep. Yesterday had been a very weird day. More than a little terrifying at times. He still wasn’t sure what to think about it. He definitely didn’t trust Jim Gordon-- any man who stalked kids through back alleys and then found a legal loophole so he could bring them home with him was suspect-- but at the same time, Gordon hadn’t lied to them. Yet. He told Jason he wasn’t going to go to juvie, and Jason didn’t go to juvie. 

But now he was in this man’s house, and Tim was here too, and men with power usually couldn’t be trusted with it, in his experience. Gordon could hold Tim’s safety over Jason’s head and get away with doing pretty much anything to Jason, and probably knew that considering he’d insisted on taking both of them. 

Jason would have to spend some time feeling out this situation and learning the rules. If worse came to worst he could always run. He’d stayed off police’s radar for five years, he could do it again. The only problem was Tim. Tim didn’t belong on the streets, anyone could see that. Tim deserved more than Jason and Gotham could give him, and it was worth the trouble to see if Gordon could provide that. 

Jason was kinda scared to find out what he was willing to put up with for Tim. 

***

They didn’t have any other clean clothes, so Tim and Jason just straightened out the hoodies and sweatpants they’d slept in before venturing downstairs. Jim Gordon was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, not quite fully awake. 

“Good morning boys. You sleep alright?”

“Yes, thank you sir,” Tim said pleasantly, plopping down at the table. 

“Just Jim, kid,” Jim said as he pushed a box of cereal closer to Tim, who only hesitated for a second before pouring himself a bowl. It took him a few bites to realize Jason was still standing in the doorway instead of sitting next to him. “Are you hungry, Jason?”

Of course he was hungry. He was always hungry. Last night was the first time he’d eaten his fill in months. 

Instead of saying any of that out loud, he stepped out of the doorway and took a seat next to Tim, pulling a bowl and the box of cereal to him. Gordon was looking at him, but Jason studiously ignored him and shoveled cereal into his mouth methodically, trying hard to hold himself back from scarfing down the food. He couldn't afford to look desperate, to give Gordon anything to hold over his head like that. 

Gordon turned back to his coffee and his own cereal after a moment, and Jason breathed an internal sigh of relief. Until Gordon opened his mouth and said:

“I figured I’d take you boys shopping this morning.”

***

Now, it made sense why Gordon wanted to go shopping. Jason and Tim didn’t have any clean clothes, or… whatever other stuff kids were supposed to have. Toothbrushes, he supposed. Shoes without holes in them. Whatever. They’re going to need some stuff to get by day to day. 

Jason got that. What he didn’t get was why he and Tim had to be included in the actual purchasing of the items. Gordon could just get their sizes, go out and grab some stuff, and be done with it. 

But no. Gordon cleaned up from breakfast, directed Jason and Tim to his car, and drove all three of them to Target. Wonderful. 

Brushing a hand over a rack of identical t-shirts, Jason tried to ignore the feeling of being watched, tried to keep his hand from twitching, for reaching for protection that didn’t exist anymore.

Gordon was an aisle away helping Tim pick out new socks and couldn’t possibly have eyes on him right now, but the itch on the back of his neck was still present. It never really went away when he was inside, or around large groups of strangers. He dressed differently, carried himself differently, was obviously not well taken care of. He’d been avoiding crowded public places like the plague for the last five years, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside a Target.

Picking out a plain black t-shirt and tossing it in the cart, Jason took a few steps and peered down the aisle to check on Tim. He was studiously comparing two different packages of socks, brow scrunched up in concentration but otherwise relaxed. Gordon was standing next to him, hands in pockets, waiting for him to finish. Tim didn’t seem to be bothered by that. 

Jason wondered how that felt, to not be afraid. 

Tim hadn’t been on the streets long enough to learn the lessons Jason had. Jason would forever be grateful for that, but he also found himself a little jealous of how quickly Tim was adapting to foster care. Then again, he’d adapted just as fast to life on the streets so maybe it was a Tim thing. Either way, Jason was already tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. 

Tim had been like this with people they met on the streets, too. It wasn't that he trusted easily, it was just that he hadn’t learned to fear the unknown. He wasn’t about to place his life in Gordon’s hands until Jason gave him the go-ahead, but he wasn’t terrified of what Gordon might do either. Jason wasn’t sure how to work with that. He wasn’t going to encourage Tim to trust Gordon until he’d proved his trustworthiness, but he didn’t want Tim to be afraid of him without a good reason, and Gordon hadn't given him a good reason. 

Yet. 

Maybe he didn’t need to do anything, Jason told himself as he watched Gordon take both packages of socks and walk towards the cart, Tim following close behind with light steps. As long as Gordon didn’t try anything, maybe he wouldn’t have to warn Tim to be careful, maybe he wouldn’t have to convince Tim to keep his head down and wait for disaster to strike. Maybe Tim could keep believing everything was going to be fine, and Jason could be the one dealing with the waiting and the fear. 

‘Yeah,’ Jason thought, stepping out of arm's reach as Gordon approached the cart. ‘Yeah, Tim doesn’t need to be freaking out. I can handle it.’ 

***

Lunch was sandwiches, but Jason couldn’t bring himself to eat more than a few bites, still full from breakfast. So much for always being hungry. 

Gordon didn’t say anything, just mumbled under his breath about going to the doctor, and didn’t that just add to the dread building in Jason’s gut? 

Tim just blinked and pushed his carrot sticks around, apparently unbothered by the thought of strangers poking and prodding him, and that was what mattered. Jason took a deep breath and forced another bite down. 

After lunch Gordon suggested he and Tim put their shoes and toiletries away while he got their new clothes started in the washer. Tim was halfway up the stairs before Jason pulled his seat out, but before he could follow his little brother Jim stopped him. 

“Wait a second, Jason.”

Jason sat back down, the dread exploding into full on panic as Gordon reached for his belt. Before he could bolt Gordon’s hand landed on a pocket instead, and he pulled out a very familiar knife sheath. “I forgot to give this back to you at breakfast, but I think you should keep it.” 

It was his knife. Gordon was giving him back his knife. He hadn’t left it in the alley or shoved it in an evidence locker somewhere or even kept it for himself. He was giving it back to Jason. 

Gordon set the knife carefully on the table between them, picking up a few plates and heading for the kitchen without another word. 

Jason just sat and stared. 

After a second he shook himself out of his daze and grabbed the knife, booking it for the guestroom. The familiar weight in his hand sent a wave of calm through him, and he would have cried if he wasn’t so keyed up. 

He could protect himself now. Gordon knew that, had given him back the means to be able to do that, even though he knew what Jason could do with a knife, had a cut on his neck still from the first time Jason felt threatened by him. 

Gordon was trusting Jason not to attack him again. 

Jason wasn’t sure what that meant, but he did know he felt a whole lot better about staying in Jim Gordon’s house now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This took me so freaking long to write. Oh my goodness. I added a few hundred words every other day and finally finished. Just a few more chapters to go, and maybe a one-shot that I couldn't fit in my final outline? We'll see... Thank you all so much for keeping up with this story and commenting regularly! Your kind words make my day :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
